Birches
by Alainn
Summary: Hermione ventures behind enemy lines in order to help tutor Malfoy. But as they are forced to cope with the war raging on outside the walls of Hogwarts and their now growing relationship, below average grades soon become the least of their problems.
1. When I see birches bend to left and righ

**Disclaimer**: You all know the drill, I own nothing, characters belong to J.K. Rowling. "Birches" the poem belongs to Robert Frost.

**A/N**: "Birches" is one of my own favorite poems, hence it's use. I also recommend the reading of it. Told from Draco's point of view, though I believe this is easy to discern after a while. **No flames please, though constructive criticism is welcome.**

Titles of the chapters and the italic quotations are excerpts from the poem itself. They skip sections in order to fit with the chapter and will probably not move in chronological order, though they have so far. The poem will be posted in full in the epilogue.

**Chapter 1**

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_When I see birches bend to left and right _

_Across the lines of straighter darker trees,_

_I like to think some boy's been swinging them..._

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Robert Frost once wrote of his childhood, swinging in the branches of birch trees; of how he now wished to be able to return to those days, to be carefree and innocent.

I don't think you could have ever defined my childhood as a happy one. And certainly not innocent. But the idea of returning to it has always appealed to me because it was certainly more carefree (not that I had any notion of this at the time). Therefore, this poem remains my favorite, read from a book actually recommended by a girl I had yet to truly notice at the time and that I have yet to thank for suggesting it. Even now, after all that's happened, I don't think I could ever admit that my favorite author was a Muggle. Even to her. _Especially_ to her.

I once idly wondered what my father's reaction would be to such a revelation. I didn't let the reverie wander very far. I could already hear the laughter in my head. Could picture him not even glancing up from the papers on his desk if I had actually worked up the courage to set foot in his study. Any time I had ventured in there when I was younger, I had been greeted with yelling and a lecture some time later. Now that I actually knew everything he worked on in there (hence, the less carefree portion of my late teenage years), I was usually greeted with apathy and a cool inquiry such as "Don't you have some studying to do before fall term starts?"

Back to aforementioned girl who always maintained rank one in my class, leading to such comments from which I was meant to infer that she was not to be this year. And this was the way every last week of summer vacation. However, moving closer to our seventh year when rank actually mattered due to graduation, I figured perhaps it was approaching that time when it might be to my advantage to pull ahead.

Unfortunately, while this was the plan, after arriving at school I was met with the constant realization that my social circle was rather limited, especially when it came to academia. I was not about to sink so low as to ask Crabbe or Goyle for tutelage in anything other than how to scratch one's ass properly or tune out the professor when wanting to sleep through class. I considered Pansy briefly, but quickly dismissed the idea. She was below me in grades and the last thing I wanted was her getting the wrong idea if I approached her.

Which left me with only a few options. The most prominent of which would also be the most damaging to my ego. Unfortunately, I saw no other way (other than leaving my grades as they were that is).

This brings me to where my story truly begins.

It was maybe a week into seventh year. I had been sitting at the fourth elongated varnished table in the Great Hall, contemplating the sheer madness of the actions I was considering and not really eating my food so much as pushing it around my plate with my fork. A few conversations were going on around me, but I was involved in none of them. However, all eyes, at least at my table turned to me when I rose to my feet, stepped out of the bench and crossed the large chamber to the Gryffindor table. Potter actually paused mid-bite, fork in his mouth and all when he spotted me. You would have thought he was petrified.

I placed my palms on the tabletop beside Weasley and leaned forward to where Hermione sat beside the "frozen" wizard. "I need to talk to you."

She arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

It was here that Potter seemed to recover, swallowing his bite finally. "What's all this about Malfoy?"

I shot him a glare. "Was I talking to you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at both of us. "What do you want?" That was directed at me.

I jerked my head toward the exit, indicating for her to follow me. Merlin, I could just picture the reaction this was going to get. But I'd rather face a little easily forgotten teasing than admit to the other two of this trio that I had come to ask for help. Not that she probably wouldn't tell them later anyway.

I was somewhat surprised when she followed me, albeit reluctantly. I did my best to ignore the stares on our way out, from student and professor alike. They didn't seem to bother her so much. She was either more secure than me or she was aware that her actions could be easier explained than mine. I was the one out on a limb here. _She_ hadn't sought _me_ out.

When we reached the corridor she crossed her arms over her chest and gave me an expectant expression.

"I need a favor," I began.

She gave an ironical snort of laughter at this. "From me?"

"Yes, from you Granger," I sighed. "You're not gonna make this easy on me, are you?"

"What do you want Draco?"

I wondered somewhat at the use of my first name, but not long. "I need you to tutor me."

Her brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "In what?"

"Everything."

This must have increased the confusion. "School's just started. Classes haven't even gotten hard yet."

"Do we have some doubt that they will?" I argued. "I need to pull up my usual average, alright?"

She stared at me for a moment, her gaze appraising. "And what's in it for me?"

"Gratitude?" I offered. I received a Look for this. "Look, you're supposed to help people, aren't you? That's what you hero types do."

She sighed and glanced back into the Hall where I figured everyone had returned to their meals other than Potter and Weasley and possibly Crabbe and Goyle. "Okay, I tell you what. We'll call it an I.O.U. for now."

I nodded, just now realizing that I had never expected her to agree. "Great," I managed, already taking a step backwards, toward the Great Hall. "Meet me tomorrow afternoon in the library. Bring your Potions notes." I turned to leave, then rounded again. "Oh, and it's probably best not to mention this to anyone."

I left her there, staring after me, no doubt marveling at the fact that this might very well have been our first conversation where no blatant insults were exchanged.

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	2. You'd think the inner dome of heaven had

Thanks to all the repliers and I appreciate the tips!

**Chapter 2**

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_You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen…_

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"I don't see why you're asking me to help you with this," Hermione began, leaning over the table we were seated at to snatch another book out from under my arm, which rested on it. "You know this stuff."

"If you must know, it's exams I freeze up on," I elucidated, turning a page and refusing to look at her. I wasn't planning to inform her that my rank was fine with me, just not my parents. Or that it was her I intended to exceed if possible.

"Lavender is best used for what?" she quizzed, changing the subject.

"Honestly Granger, I hardly know the girl."

I knew the eye-roll was coming before it even happened. "The herb, Malfoy."

"Sleeping or calming potions."

"Sleep yes," she agreed, lifting an index finger while her eyes scanned the page for more information. "But it's a little too strong for simple calming. Chamomile would work better for that."

"Fine, whatever. Close enough."

She raised her head so I was no longer staring at the part in her dark hair. "'Good enough' isn't good enough. 'Close enough' and 'exactly' are the difference between an E or an O on a test. Maybe _that's_ your problem."

"Fine, alright," I held up my hands defensively. "Lavender: sleep, chamomile: calm; got it. Look," I slammed the book shut, coughing a little when a small cloud of dust rose from it. "Let's move on to another subject. The test isn't until next week and I can always convince Snape to give me some extra credit."

"Transfiguration it is." She extracted a different scroll of parchment from the mass of papers and tomes surrounding us. "I doubt you'll be getting any sympathy in that class."

Sighing, I pulled out my own notes and began looking them over, while she did the same. It took me a moment to catch her glancing up at me every so often out of the corner of my eye. I let this continue for some time before it began wearing on my nerves and I finally asked: "What?"

"Well, it's just…" she trailed off and shrugged and I got the impression she was feigning nonchalance. "You're…I don't know…different one-on-one."

I looked up and gave her a bewildered look. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"Both, I suppose." She refocused her eyes on her writing, but continued talking. "I can't really compliment your behavior now without insulting your behavior before, now can I?"

"Maybe it's best if we don't get off-topic here, Granger," I suggested. "I'm backing off a bit on the sarcastic barbs-at least those aimed directly your way-because right now I need you. Don't get used to it."

She didn't respond to this and I took that as either offence or silent compliance, either of which were fine with me. The only other words spoken the entire session were school-related.

* * *

Needless to say, it took some finesse to handle all the questions regarding why I was giving the time of day to any Gryffindor, let alone Granger. The only time I actually told the truth about the whole thing was when someone, usually a fellow Slytherin inquired about a possible relationship.

The only thing worse than having a Mudblood for a tutor would be having one for a girlfriend.

I believe the most common rumors were that we were in cahoots about some unknown form of espionage (this one didn't last long considering Hermione's impeccable reputation for decency) or that we had been assigned to work on some project together and neither of us had a choice in the matter. The latter was the story I chose to tell my friends. It wasn't _so_ far from the truth.

But my grades were improving. Slowly, but surely. And since that had been the point from the beginning, I could withstand the comments.

One day, walking into the library, late (purposely so) for our session, I found her reading. Surprise, surprise. The only difference was that today, I asked about it.

"What are you reading?"

Who knows why I cared. I'm not even sure I did at the time; I might have been making conversation.

Not even bothering to respond, she held up the book, while keeping her eyes on the pages so I could see the cover. Only the author's name in thick gold letters graced the front of it. No title.

"Never heard of him," I said, setting down my own books.

"Yeah, well, you wouldn't have."

"Now, what's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, taking some small measure of offence. I read. Quite often, contrary to popular belief.

"Relax, Malfoy," she sighed, finally lowering the volume. "I wouldn't dream of shattering that carefully constructed ego of yours. You wouldn't have heard of him because this is not the sort of book one finds at Hogwarts or Diagon Alley. Robert Frost is a Muggle." She shut the book and held it out to me. "You should read it sometime."

"Right," I said sardonically, whipping the chair in front of me around and plopping down in it backwards.

She tossed the book rather unceremoniously onto her stack and scooted over to where I had opened mine. "Let's just get started."

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	3. So I was once myself a swinger of birche

Wow, I rarely update day-by-day, so it enjoy it while it lasts guys! Thanks to all repliers, they're the reason I post!

**Chapter 3**

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_So I was once myself a swinger of birches_

_And so I dream of going back to be…_

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I would never tell her, but she was different one-on-one too.

She was more relaxed. Less Little Miss Know-It-All. When she spoke in class, she always knew the answer and that had irked me in the past. Now…well, she still always knew the answer, but I was beginning to understand that she wasn't showing off. Her intellect was part of who she was. And when she came off as conceited in class, I now had an inkling that she was trying to impress the professors more than the students.

"You know, Granger, you're not that bad a teacher."

Her head shot up and she gazed at me. I half expected her jaw to drop and hang on the table. She hesitated for a moment before responding. "I…I'm sorry, I don't think I understood what you just said."

"I said, you're a pretty decent teacher," I repeated.

"No, no," she objected. "That couldn't have been it. See, that's a compliment."

"Yeah…"

"You know, Malfoy, that a compliment is something nice about somebody else?"

"Alright, sorry." I apologized. "I'll stick to sarcasm if it makes you so uncomfortable." I glanced at the nearby clock on the library wall, then immediately began gathering my effects. "I have to go."

"Well, I didn't think I had offended you that badly."

"Don't flatter yourself," I shot back, rising to my feet. "I have Quidditch practice."

"We haven't even made it through the chapter," she complained, placing a firm hand on my Dark Arts text when I reached for it.

"Then we'll finish it later."

"Your paper's due tomorrow," she reminded me. "When's later?"

I sighed and shrugged, wishing she would just allow me to leave. "I don't know, after dinner I guess."

"After dinner is after curfew."

I lifted an eyebrow and smirked at her. "You afraid to sneak out Granger?"

"Not afraid." She sat back. "Just not stupid. I'm not about to get caught roaming about to further your education."

"We're prefects. I don't think anyone is going to pay much attention if we wander the halls a little." I wrenched my book out from under her hand, which by the look it earned me, she didn't appreciate.

"We can only stay out so late without going past our curfew as well." Her look suddenly transformed into the condescending one I was more accustomed to. "You always abuse your authority like this?"

"Worry about yourself. I'm a big boy." I began walking backwards through the stack nearest to us, heading for the entrance to the library. "Just meet me here later." I turned.

"Malfoy!" she yelled after me in protest.

"See ya then!" I responded, choosing not to give her the chance to say no. I heard her sigh in resignation and grinned at the tiny victory.

* * *

I found myself actually looking forward to that evening. It surprised me a little. It scared me a little. 

Used to be Granger (or any Gryffindor) would have been the last person I wanted to spend any time with. Now I found she was far more engaging company than Crabbe and Goyle and she certainly didn't hang all over me like Parkinson. I actually didn't feel in charge for once and I somewhat enjoyed it.

Of course, I knew what my father would say to that. I was supposed to be in charge. I was supposed to be intimidating.

_You're a Malfoy, you start acting like one!_

I shook the thought from my head and fiddled around in the deep pockets of my black robes for my wand as I reached the library doors. When I found it, I glanced down the hall both ways, and then raised it.

"_Alohomora_," I whispered, smiling in satisfaction when I heard the lock click.

I pulled one of the double doors open and cautiously stepped through them. Then I began peeking through the shelves in search or Hermione. Unfortunately, the lighting was horrible this time of night. The sun no longer filtered through the windows, revealing floating dust particles. There was a limited supply of lit candles. And we didn't have a regular study table that I could pinpoint by memory.

I was beginning to think that even though I was late, she was later when I heard: "Over here."

I jumped, but I don't think she noticed, for which I was grateful. I squinted into the darkness and spotted the young brunette seated at a back table, shrouded in shadows except for the two lone candles she had lit. I headed toward her, cursing under my breath when my shin hit the leg of the chair across from her that I was meant to sit in. She did giggle softly at this.

"Laugh it up," I hissed at her.

She stopped laughing and pressed her lips together tightly, trying to stifle any more chuckles that might have come out. She gestured for me to sit and set down what was already written of my paper in front of me. She was pointing out the mistakes she had marked in red ink when she mentioned that she had brought along her paper (that she had already finished, of course) as a point of reference.

At this comment, I stared at her for what must have been a rather prolonged moment.

"What?" she prompted.

"I used to think you were a showoff Granger, but now I'm not so sure." I watched her shift uncomfortably in her seat. "Why do you try so hard?"

She lifted her eyes to mine. "You'd be surprised how many wizards there are out there like you. They don't say it maybe, but they don't expect much from me. I guess I want them-I want you to think I'm a good witch."

I think I managed to keep the surprise off my face. I excelled at stoicism. "I do."

"No, you don't," She gave me a small smile. "You think I'm a good witch for what I am."

"I didn't say that-"

"No, but that's what you meant," she cut me off, letting out a rueful laugh and looking down at the parchment again. "That's what you _always_ mean."

She began reading over my paper again, appearing as though she was looking to see if she had missed anything, but I knew she hadn't. She was avoiding looking at me.

I observed her silently, not really sure if she was aware of my gaze or not. I thought about all the things I had said to her over the years I had known her and the rest of her little Trio. The first time I had called her a mudblood, I had meant to hurt her feelings. Now if I ever said it, it was more out of habit than anything else. I never expected her to take it to heart quite that much. Though part of me was glad that my opinion meant that much to her.

I glanced at everything she had brought with her and spotted the book she had been reading during one of our sessions last week. The one by the Muggle poet. I reached over and picked it up, opening it and quickly skimming a little of the first few poems. When I closed it, I noticed her watching me again.

Maybe it paid to be a little more open-mined at times.

I lifted the book for her to see. "You mind if I borrow this?" I asked, turning it over in my hand and studying it. "Thinkin' about giving it a try."

She continued to stare at me for a while before a smile began tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Yeah," she finally replied. "Yeah, sure. Take it."

The smile had turned into a grin. And to my surprise, I smiled back.

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	4. It's when I'm weary of considerations

Sorry it took a while everyone. Thanks for all the replies; I love 'em!

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**Chapter 4**

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_It's when I'm weary of considerations…_

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Then it happened.

Things had been going great for weeks now. My grades were up and I had found a…well, I suppose "friend" would be the correct term, though we never acted any differently towards each other in public. At any rate, I was happier than I usually was.

Until I ran into the Boy Who Lived.

I had seen him in class since I had arranged my little situation with Hermione. But all I had received were dirty looks, which I was accustomed to. Therefore, I thought nothing of it until he grabbed me by the arm in the corridor one day after Advanced Potions and dragged me away from the streamline of students heading up the stone stairs out of the dungeons.

"What do you want, Potter?" I demanded, roughly jerking my arm free of his grasp.

He returned my contemptuous glare. "I want to know what you've been doing with Hermione."

I gazed at him, slightly taken aback. "She didn't tell you," I declared, more to myself than to him.

"Was she supposed to?"

"Relax, Potter, don't get your knickers in a twist." I began straightening the wrinkles he had creased in my robes upon seizing my shoulder. "If she were doing something wrong, she certainly wouldn't be telling you she was going to meet me, now would she? She would make up some lame excuse like taking a walk."

"Fine, then." He took a step back. "You'll have no problem telling me then."

I gave a reluctant sigh. "Not that it's any of your business," I began pointedly, "but we've been studying together."

"Is _that_ what they're calling it nowadays?"

"I don't appreciate that comment, or the tone that accompanies it." I thrust a patronizing index finger in his face. "Not to mention, that it also insults your little friend. You don't trust her much, do you?"

"I trust Hermione," he assured me, crossing his arms across his chest. "It's you I worry about."

"Well, I think Granger can defend herself." I raised my eyebrows in a silent challenge for him to deny it. "Don't you?"

"Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy."

We both pivoted extremely reluctantly toward the direction of the new voice, though we both knew who it was. Only one person spoke so low and precisely.

Professor Snape clasped his hands together in front of himself and stared us down. "I trust you have another class and another Professor anticipating your attendance?"

"Yes, Sir," Potter agreed, swallowing hard. I knew he and all his little Gryffindor cronies were terrified of my Head of House.

"Then I suggest you both run along."

We both nodded in acquiescence and without another word went our respective ways.

* * *

I dropped my books down loudly, not at all surprised when I received a startled jump out of my homework partner.

"Watch it," Hermione scolded, returning to her own parchment, dipping her quill in the jet black ink at her side.

"Had a little visit today," I informed her, plopping down in the seat beside her. Her eyes remained focused on her work. "From one of your little bodyguards."

That seemed to get her attention. She lifted her gaze and turned to me, her curiosity evidently piqued. "Harry?" she guessed. I nodded. She sighed and crossed her arms on the table, burying her face in them. "I knew he was acting peculiar lately," she said, her voice heavily muffled.

"Yeah."

"Sorry about that," she apologized, her head still down, soft curls falling over her elbows. I almost laughed at how distraught she looked.

"I actually wanted to thank you."

She raised her head again and shot me a quizzical look, narrowing her eyes. "What for?"

"You kept your mouth shut, like I asked," I reminded her. "Potter has no clue what we're doing. Well…_now_ he does, but he didn't."

"You told him?"

"You wanted me to let him think the worst? 'Cause believe me," I gestured back and forth between us, indicating whatever our strange relationship was, "_this_ is not the worst we could be doing."

She laughed at that, brushing her hair behind her ear. "And what exactly is the worst we could be doing, Draco?"

I sat back at that, unsure how to answer, put off by the use of my first name and the slow realization that we were now officially flirting.

I broke eye contact and shifted uncomfortably in my chair. "Well, we could be hexing each other into oblivion for example," I replied.

She continued to stare at me as if pondering my change in attitude, then returned to her books, somewhat resigned. "Right," she agreed.

For the remainder of the session, one or both of us would glance at the other through our peripheral vision, attempting to be discreet and usually failing. When she claimed a few hours later that if she didn't leave, she'd be late for dinner with her friends, I watched her gather up her effects, then disappear out of the library doors (a little too quickly, I might add) until I could no longer see her. Then I forcibly shook my head to clear it.

Well. _This _was a new feeling.

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I know, flirtation is weak at this point, but things will start picking up here soon. ;) FEEDBACK!!!


	5. And life is too much like a pathless woo...

Took a while, I know, sorry guys. Enjoy! This one has a little more insight into what we all know is going on in Draco's life at this point.

**Chapter 5**

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_And life is too much like a pathless wood_

_Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs_

_Broken across it, and one eye is weeping_

_From a twig's having lashed across it open…_

* * *

"Can I ask you something?"

"Hmm?" was the only response I received. Hermione did not even lift her head to look at me, even though I was serious and rather desired her attention.

"Do you like your parents?"

She did look up at this, her eyebrows drawing together in slight confusion. "Why?" she countered. "Don't you?"

I shrugged with false nonchalance. "I don't really know my parents."

She studied me, as if silently choosing her next words very carefully. It was not exactly commonplace for us to have a conversation such as this one, let alone for me to be the one to initiate it. "Do you like what you _do_ know?"

I hesitated. I had been about to say no flat out before I thought better of it and realized that wasn't entirely true. "My mum's all right I suppose."

I stopped here.

Apparently I had given something away without really meaning to, judging by the eyebrow she cocked. "But not your father?"

I snickered bitterly at this. "Let's put it this way: do _you_ like my father?"

"No."

The response was immediate and it disconcerted me slightly, not that I could blame her. It was the answer I had anticipated and it would have unnerved me still more if she had replied in the affirmative.

She quite resolutely returned to her work, silently implying that it was not something she cared to discuss. I couldn't hold her responsible for that reaction either. As far as she was concerned, I was my father's son. Contact with me on her part was probably something barely tolerated by her friends and even Dumbledore for that matter. We both knew more about what secrets the other had without letting on about it and it was an unspoken pact we had made. We would not talk about it. We wouldn't acknowledge that there was a war going on and that when we were finally called upon to fight, we would most likely be on opposing sides of it.

I cringed inwardly at the thought of my fast-approaching eighteenth birthday. I had managed not to think about it much over the summer holidays, but now that school had started up again it was like an oncoming unstoppable freight train. And to think some teens would actually be thrilled at the idea of their parents condoning a tattoo. I smiled slightly at this ironic thought.

"What?"

I jumped a little in my seat and cursed my ill composure when I did. I shook my head.

"Nothing."

* * *

I had fully intended to stay on during the Christmas holidays. I was rather in the mood to have the common room and dormitories all to myself and perhaps catch up on the mountain of homework I had received (which Hermione insisted I finish myself before helping me with corrections) in preparation for N.E.W.T.s. However, I soon discovered that my father had other plans that quite conflicted with my own.

I jerked back, startled when my family's large eagle owl swooped down in front of my face and landed somewhat roughly on the table, irritably shaking it's left leg when it stepped into my pudding. Reluctantly I slipped a miniscule scroll of parchment from the foot that wasn't encrusted with food and quickly stole a scrap of chicken from Nott's plate, allowing her to nip it from my fingers. Ignoring Pansy's attempts to discreetly read over my shoulder, I opened the small note and began to read.

_You will return home with the other students on the seventh of next month. We have things to discuss._

There was no signature, but it was my father's sketchy yet elegant penmanship. The vagueness and lack of identification were employed in case the owl was intercepted, I knew, yet, I couldn't help wondering how pointless this was without the utilization of an anonymous bird.

I crumpled the paper and stuffed it into and inner pocket of my robes, wishing he would have left out the reference to _why_ he wanted me home. Despite the message's cryptic nature, I had a feeling I knew what "things" he wanted to discuss. My birthday was coming up in January. Old enough to graduate. Old enough to be considered an adult in the eyes of the Muggle world as well as the Wizarding one. Old enough to be initiated into the service of the Dark Lord.

I glanced around at my surroundings. Most of the people in close proximity to me would be initiated before graduation. They had known for years. _I_ had known for years. But now that the time had come, it didn't seem so simple.

I used to be so sure. I knew my place. I _liked_ my place. After all, hadn't I always taken great pleasure in the idea that Potter considered me one of his top enemies? Hadn't I prided myself in the fact that my friends and subsequently, my House considered me their designated leader? Who was I if not the pureblood Slytherin prince my reputation made me out to be? Who would I be if not a Death Eater? Who was I if I _wasn't_ sure anymore?

For all my influence, I was raised to be a follower. To live in the service of something greater than yourself is supposed to be noble. But this, to me, seemed…cowardly. Part of me wondered if it was better to die on your feet than live on your knees.

I sighed. Of course, that was the problem. I _would_ die. How long would I last if I voiced these concerns to my father? Or worse-backed out once I was already in? Deserters were not tolerated. I knew that much. Best case scenario, I would be disowned. Completely cut off. As destitute as a Weasley.

Looking up from my plate again, I caught Hermione gazing questioningly at me from across the Hall. I simply shook my head at her and averted my eyes. Even if I had had the opportunity to explain to her away from prying ears, I doubt I would have told her. That would be breaking our silent agreement, wouldn't it? I could just picture the disapproval I her eyes.

Of course, this raised another nagging question. When had I grown to respect her opinion? Why did I care? What _was_ this?

Enemies? No.

Friendship? Hardly.

I didn't want to be enemies. I didn't want to be friends. I wanted…

I didn't know what I wanted.

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